


The Prince and The Servant

by edenira



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Convenient time travel, Day 1 Prompt, Hints to slash, M/M, Merlin POV, Merthur Party 2013, Team Orange, The Prince and The Servant, hints of Merthur
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-23
Updated: 2013-12-23
Packaged: 2018-01-05 17:54:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1096814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/edenira/pseuds/edenira
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin wakes up as his former self: on his way to Camelot to meet Gaius. Given a second shot at his choices by destiny, how could he ever pick the life he has lived over one he has not?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Prince and The Servant

**Author's Note:**

> This prompt is a little stretched, to be sure. However, by the end, I think you will understand where I was going with it. For those who don't know; it's a part of the Merthur Party happening currently on Tumblr! If you get the chance, be sure to go check out the other fan-works which have been created.

The last thing I remember seems strikingly ordinary in retrospect. My itchy ashen coat stretched around me, I started to doze off in the damp grass. It doesn’t exactly scream of the supernatural, does it? That said, it was the first time I’d managed to slip into the realms of unconsciousness for, I don’t know, a good millennia?

  
I suppose that is rather unusual.

  
And then I woke up after what felt like just a few minutes; my cheek being tickled by the now dry grass. But something wasn’t right; I could sense that as soon as I opened my eyes.

  
The first thing I noticed was that my coat had disappeared. I swore under my breath; it’d served me well for a good five decades or so, what a shame. It had been a gift from an old friend before he departed for the New World. They called it “America” now.

  
But it wasn’t just my coat that was gone. The mound was gone. _Avalon was gone._

  
I started to panic, jumping to my feet with surprising ease and that was the next sign. No ache throbbed from my ligaments, no sharp pain from my back, no discomfort at all, in fact. I looked down.

  
Those hands were not those of an aged man. They were smooth and strong, if a little spindly. I looked further. My withered layers had seemingly vanished; replaced by a thin faded shirt, jacket, breeches and something else. Something was around my neck. I pulled at the knot.

  
A neckerchief. A red neckerchief.

  
Nothing happened. At moments like this, something is supposed to happen, surely. Perhaps I should have gasped or cried or spontaneously combusted. Maybe I was waiting for the thing to dissolve between my fingers and the existence around me to fade away. But it didn’t.

  
Nothing happened.

  
I quickly tied the neckerchief back around my neck, for fear it really would disappear. It did not.

  
I finally took a good look at my surroundings. It was mountainous; I could see quite clearly the peaks of colossal snow-topped hills and the veil of mist that protected them. It was green too; a green which is scarcely seen in the day from which I had come. Or, at least, I had presumed I had come. Truly, at that moment I had no idea where, or when, I was. But I would be a liar to say I didn’t dare to hope I had gone back far enough to be somewhere of real significance.

  
There was a brown leather bag beside my feet, sitting beside the patch of grass I had been sleeping on. I’d like to say that I recognised it immediately, but many years of waiting and wandering do things to the brain. I have only been able to protect the memories without which I would have no reason to stay at all. Eventually, however, I recognised the wonky stitching and irregular cut of the backpack. There was only one person on earth who could have made that bag, the contents of which confirmed my suspicions.

  
Inside, as though it had only been written a few days previously (which, I suppose, it had), was the letter addressed to Gaius; handwritten by my own mother. Without thinking of the consequences of my actions, I ripped it open. Sure enough, the words were scribbled in her distinctive hand.

  
It was impossible, quite impossible, entirely impossible.

  
And, yet, here I was. If here was truly where I thought I was.

  
I groaned loudly; my mind could not take much more of this madness. Were matters not complicated enough already?

  
“Excuse me?” A timid voice interrupted my reeling brain. I turned around, crumpled letter still in my hands.

  
A young man wearing a combination of colours I could never forget stood behind me, his horse waiting just behind him, though I barely registered its presence. I must have been staring at the crest on his blood red vest, for he cleared his throat quite loudly.

  
“Are you quite alright?” He seemed genuinely concerned for my wellbeing.

  
I could not help but feel touched at his worrying about me. After all, at that moment I was just a disorientated teenager on the side of an empty road.

  
“Yes, sir, quite alright.” God, even my voice sounded younger. I swallowed, what a strange out-of-body experience this was.

  
“Where are you headed?”

  
My mouth went dry. I knew quite well, of course, where I was headed; where I was supposed to be going. But whether I could truly force myself to return to that godforsaken land, I was not yet sure. Had I really returned to the time of my childhood? And, if so, why? In the name of every face I had loved and lost, why?

  
“Camelot.” The name had not come from my own mouth, but his, as he glanced down at the letter in my hands. I hid it quickly.

  
“No, w-well, yes, I suppose, but-”

  
“But?” He did not look convinced.

  
I sighed. “Yes, I suppose I am going to Camelot.”

  
If there were any answers to my questions, surely that was where they would be found. Besides, there was a part of me which was dying to go back. To see those walls, those people, that person. I was dying for another hit of the drug which made me suffer every day of my goddamn life, though it was also the drug that kept that same life going.

  
“Okay, and you are quite sure of how to get there?”

  
“W-what?” I must have seemed quite dazed to him, the poor chap; he was only trying to help. “Oh, yes. If I follow the main road and cut through the forest just half a mile down, I should be there in no time.”

  
He smiled and nodded. “That’s right. Well, you seem to be all ready to go; perhaps I shall see you around.”

  
“Perhaps.” I smiled back at him just before he turned back to mount his horse.

  
He waved as he cantered off towards Camelot, a grin lighting his face up. And I was left alone, again.

  
I looked down at the letter in my hands. Surely there was nothing else to do but to go back? For what other purpose could I have been sent here in the first place? After all, there was nowhere else to go. Besides, maybe, just maybe, this meant something.

  
I did not dare let myself imagine what.

  
So I began the journey I had taken so many years ago. Backpack slung over my shoulders, I took the route which had once been so familiar to me. And by noon, sun high in the sky; I could see the proud white towers of Camelot looming before me: a beacon of light shooting up from the dark forest.

  
I hesitated for a moment, unsure of my decision for certainly what would not be the last time on this cursed quest. If I already knew the immense spectrum of emotion which I was about to subject myself to, why was I here? If I knew that this might be the final straw for my fragile existence, why was I here? If I knew how this play of ours would end in tragedy already, why was I here?

  
But this was my Pandora’s Box. And like Pandora, the curiosity of what might wait inside was too much to bear. For just one more look, one more touch; that was enough to justify unleashing all kinds of sadness into the world.

  
And as soon as I stepped through that gate; I knew I was lost.

  
It was the same; exactly the same. The bustling market; the sun-warmed stone columns; the filthy ground beneath my feet. I floated through the streets, barely aware of the people around me as I explored my dream. Because, surely, that’s what this must be: a dream, it had to be a dream.

  
But my dream was shattered by the call of the trumpets; a reminder of the scene which had to play out here. A lump formed quite quickly in my throat. I was not looking forward to this moment; it had been the subject of many nightmares during my time between these four stone walls. But I knew destiny better than most and it was mine that I should see this.

  
With some reluctance, I made my way into the main courtyard and watched from as far away as I could afford. I watched the drums beating the rhythm of death as Uther pompously announced the end of the life of another innocent, all in the name of justice. I watched the spark of magic disappear from his eyes as the blade cut through his flesh, like scissors through paper. I heard the gasps of those around me and the mumbled complaints of discontent.

  
But they stood still and did nothing, as Uther claimed the day as a cause for celebration.

  
They cheered and promptly started to disperse.

  
I would like to say that it had been a while since I’d seen a man die at the hands of another. Unfortunately, the affinity men had shown for war in the past had only worsened in what I knew to be the future. The consequences of such an affinity had only become all the more dire also, and I say this as a man who has seen the worst massacres of history. From the devastation of Nagasaki, to the genocide of the Jews in Europe, to the colonisation of the Caribbean.

  
My distaste for murder had evidently not faded either; I looked away from the bleeding corpse quickly.

  
And the wailing starts. The wailing of a mother rings in my ears, just as the crowd starts to disappear. Her threats sound fresh and new, though I have heard them all before. I know of her plot to intercept Lady Helen on her journey to Camelot; her plan to take revenge on Uther.

  
“An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, a son for a son.” She struggles to pronounce the words, but their meaning is clear enough.

  
And though I know I should be concerned for the safety of the one for whom I exist, I am instead reminded of a time when these were just words. When I was young enough to not read into their meaning and be sure that someone else would surely untangle the riddle she weaved before us.

  
And how soon that time would end, although, to a certain extent, it already had.

  
She disappears in an explosion of hissed chants and dust, but all is too quickly forgotten; though I now know that I must be the one to remember.

  
The crowd disperses; I remain. I take one final glance at the mangled man’s body on the chopping block and hope that he has found peace with the many others I have seen perish.

* * *

Unlike my first time round here, I have no need to ask the guards where Gaius is. With my memories mostly intact, I know my way around this stoney labyrinth like the back of my hand. But, this time round, my steps stutter and slow. I can feel the opposition from within in my every movement, though I know this is the way it must be.

  
I knock just once before entering his chambers, for I know that not even the most timid of entrances can make up for Gaius’ clumsy feet.

  
The familiar smell of perfume and chemicals hits me as soon as I walk in. It surprises me how well my memory has retained much of what Gaius taught me. Even after all these years, I can still name every bottle and every potion. The sound of water bubbling sounds so familiar; the messy workspace looks perfectly ordered in the strangest way.

  
And the man himself, on his balcony, sorting through what was really a modest collection of books.

  
“Gaius?” Seeing him again… the name jumped from my lips. I regret it almost instantly for he, quite predictably, loses footing as he turns and starts what should be a fatal descent.

  
But time has not affected my magic; it has only given me time to perfect it. So the bed to break his fall meets his back in an instant. Just as instinctual as before.

  
“What the..? What on earth did you just do?” Unsurprisingly, he was full of questions when he had recovered.

  
“Nothing.” My first answer was notably surer than last time. “Nothing at all.”

  
“N-no, no.” He protested indignantly. “The bed… you moved the bed.”

  
“What are you talking about?” I tried to lie, honestly I did. “I have no idea what happened.”

  
“If anyone had seen that…” He scolded me as he rose to his feet; dusting off the wooden debris from his robe.

  
“Seen what?” I don’t think my act was working. “It had nothing to do with me!”

  
“Don’t play coy with me, young man.” His tone sharpened as his volume rose. “I know exactly what it was; I just want to know where you learnt how to do it!”

  
“Nowhere!” I start to get defensive; falling into my past role with more ease than I could ever have anticipated.

  
“Then how do you know magic?”

  
“I don’t!”

  
“Where did you study?” He demands of me and when I hesitate Gaius gets all the more furious. “Answer me!”

  
“I-I’ve never been taught magic.” It’s still mostly true.

  
As always, Gaius is cynical. “You’re lying to me; I know you’re lying to me!”

  
“I’m not! W-what do you want me to say?”

  
“The truth.”

  
“I was born like this.” I blurt it out before I can stop; it’s a phrase I remember hating so deeply. I did not, as a boy, think for a moment that it justified the nature of ‘this’.

  
“That’s impossible.” He sounds sure to start off with. “That’s impossible.”

  
I swallow loudly as I look into his eyes. I search for something in his familiar expression, but all I find is confusion. For some reason, I find it surprising that he does not seem to recognise me. Why should he? We, technically, had never met before this moment and yet… Part of me was hoping that it was not only I who had been sent back to this accursed land.

  
“Who are you?” The question hurts more than I can acknowledge.

  
I hesitate, though just for a moment and swallow again. Loneliness is a sensation I should be well acquainted with by now.

  
“I have a letter.” I blink away the stinging as I slip the bag off my shoulders and removed the slightly tattered parchment. Gaius gives me a suspicious look as I give it to him.

  
“I haven’t got my glasses.” He looks at me in the eye and, for a moment, I see something flicker there. “Who are you?”

  
“Merlin.”

  
“Hunith’s son?” The association shouldn’t be surprising. Recognition finally appears in his face.

  
“Yes.” I force a smile as he turns away and rambles on about how I’m early (though I’m not). But as he tells me my duties and reminds me of the conventions of court life, all I can see is the future. A good friend, a father-figure, a teacher. And death. Always death.

* * *

That night I do not sleep, though I try in hope that it might return me to the present. I just lay there in my bed, with so many memories springing to life around me. I am forced to keep my eyes closed, for if I watch for too long I will surely crumble. It is not rest. It is not peace. It is not sleep. But I make it through the night nonetheless.

  
That same night I can see in my minds’ eye what is occurring. Morgana’s brave defiance of Uther. Lady Helen’s unlikely end. The beginning of the end; the beginning of my purpose. I see it before me like a contract waiting to be signed. I know that once I complete my part that the future will be set in stone. That there will be no way to stop the ever-flowing current of fate.

  
For the first time, I feel reluctance. I know already that his destiny ends in death, what difference does the where and when make? But I know the difference. I’ve felt the difference. I’ve lived a thousand years of the difference.

  
The sound of Kilgharrah calling my name reminds me of that difference.

  
_‘Soon,’_ I promise myself; soon it will be time to see that friend once again. For it will be he, if any, who will have the answer to this riddle.

  
I am up early, starting my errands for Gaius. I know I am being slower than he would like, but I know what happens at the end of this morning. I know who is waiting for me at the end of this morning. And, though I know I will want to run straight into his arms as soon as I see him, for now I would like to postpone that meeting. Perhaps I already know that this, whatever ‘this’ is, will either be my making or my end.

  
But eventually I do come sluggishly striding out of the gate and then, truly, I am lost.

  
I don’t see the running target, or the calls of his friends. I see his face; young and unmarred with the pressures of a kingdom, the duty of family or the beckoning of war. I see his eyes; glistening in the sun with the pure joy of life. I see his smile, though callous and childish now, I can already envision its future beauty. He is here. He is alive. _He is alive._

  
My heart jumps out of its chest; fluttering and leaping and praising every man under the sun because he is alive. He is alive and before me: blond tousled hair, sparkling blue eyes, stupid strong build.

  
I ache with want. Want for everything that is to come and everything we will be together. I can feel it all at once and the ecstasy is excruciating but then, in the pit of my gut, I feel with dread from the knowledge of how this must all end.

  
I take in a shaky breath. I couldn’t run away if I tried and I feel destiny push me towards him. He is every bit as lovely as I remember, but he is but a child compared to the man whom I cradled, dying, in my arms. But what is about to occur, is the most important moment in our lives and I am not going to stop it.  
I have waited a thousand years for this moment

  
My foot lands on the fallen target just as I remember and then his eyes fall on my figure. The lack of recognition hurts more than any pain a sword or arrow or gun can inflict upon a man, but I know now that just being in his presence is better than any reality waiting for me.

  
“Come on, that’s enough.” I try to make my voice sound as it did then, though I am surely much different.

  
“What?” His voice, oh god, his voice.

  
“You’ve had your fun, my friend.”

  
I practically flinch as he starts to approach me. It’s almost unbearable to be near to him. And for a moment I think he must know how I feel on the inside. How desperate I am to just pull him to me and tell him everything all at once: tell him everything I’ve been through, everything we will go through just to get to the good stuff that much quicker.

  
How can he not see it? How can he not sense how much I want him; how long I’ve been waiting to take him into my arms once more? It seems impossible that he cannot even acknowledge such an overwhelming array of sensations. It seems impossible that he cannot see it in my eyes.

  
But he does not.

  
“Do I know you?”

  
‘ _Yes, you do_.’ I scream inside. ‘ _Yes you do_.’

  
“I’m Merlin.” The words are slow and soft as I hold out my hand; my need to touch him becoming dangerously apparent.

  
“So I don’t know you.” And he’s before me now. Close enough to touch, but not close enough. After a thousand years distance, I don’t think anything will ever be close enough.

  
And, yet, being before him now is the most content I have been in lifetimes.

  
“Yet, you called me friend.”

  
“That was my mistake.” I can think of many better words for a relationship such as ours, though I fear no word could ever suffice to label it entirely.

  
“Yes, I think so.” I had forgotten how he had been before: so proud and so sure of himself and so like his father. The feelings of before come flying back to me; before everything I ever cared about. I hated him, god, how I hated him.

  
“I’d never have a friend who could be such an ass.” It’s true enough, for by the time we became friends he had changed. Not that we remained ‘friends’ for long.  
He laughs shallowly. “Or I one who could be so stupid.”

  
It doesn’t hurt at all, his words, I mean. I’m numb to anything and everything at this moment. I am so blissfully at ease. It must be a dream. It has to be a dream, I keep telling myself, for there is no way he could be before me now. Not here; not after all this time.

  
But he stands beside me; as alive as myself. Though perhaps that explains it; perhaps I am finally dead, I think, and this is heaven. It would certainly make more sense.

  
“Tell me, Merlin, do you know how to walk on your knees?” He grins at me; I doubt he had considered the full meaning of the question before he asked it. Luckily, I have the upper hand this time round.

  
I smirk, unable to resist making him squirm.

  
“For you, maybe.”

  
He freezes where he stands, slightly too close for comfort now, he realises. But he doesn’t step back; that would be weak. And though I find no recognition in his bright blue eyes, he seems confused to find it in mine.

  
“I could send you to prison for less than that.” His words seem, somehow, softer now, taking a pace or so forwards.

  
“I wouldn’t if I were you.” I can barely resist a flickered look down at his lips. It has been so long since I have felt desire such as this; I barely know how to contain it.

  
Fear and confusion show in his expression, but only for a moment. “Why? What are you going to do me?”

  
I pause for a second; I suppose that’s the real question, isn’t it? My smile fades into something more solemn. His confusion intensifies.

  
Just a weary wanderer who has finally reached his last destination, I whisper: “You have no idea.”

* * *

  
Half an hour later, I am in a cell, still dazed and blissfully happy from our meeting. Time had made me unsure of whether the feelings I had felt for him would last, but they have returned with a vengeance. I doubt now that they will ever fade at all. Even now, if I am forced to go back and wait another thousand years, I am sure that this feeling will never disappear.

  
When Gaius comes to get me in the morning, I probably look more pleased with myself that I should do. He scolds me furiously before sending me out to the stocks.

  
That part is every bit as bad as I remember. So bad that I forget, up until I see her approaching me, why this event was of so much significance.

  
She is beautiful, there is no disputing that. I thought that the very first time I saw her. Now, however, I am filled with sorrow when I see her. Like Arthur, she seems impossibly young. How could she ever withstand the fate I know she is to encounter?

  
But I know she will; she must.

  
“I’m Guinevere,” She starts, smiling where she stand beside me. “But most people call me Gwen. I’m Lady Morgana’s maid.”

  
“Merlin.” I force a smile and offer her my hand as well as I can from where I crouch over the wooden stocks. “Most people just call me ‘idiot’.”

  
She smiles and laughs. “You know, I saw what you did, yesterday. You were so brave.”

  
“Nope, just stupid.” I can barely force the up-wards curving of the lips now.

  
“I’m glad you walked away, though, I mean; you weren’t going to beat him.”

  
“I could beat him, if I wanted.”

  
She doesn’t seem convinced. “You think? I’m sure you’re stronger than you look, but, well, y’know, Arthur’s one of these real ‘rough, tough, save-the-world’ sort of men and well…”

  
“What?”

  
“You don’t look like that.”

  
She always did have a knack for underestimating my abilities. But, then again, so did everyone else back then. She was a good girl. It seems such a shame that she got so caught up in our mess. Being around her, knowing what’s to come, already sensing her slightly flirtatious tone; it makes me uncomfortable knowing what she will come to mean to Arthur, but more so to Lancelot.

  
“Well, it’s great that you stood up to him, anyway.” She continues.

  
“You think so?”

  
“Arthur’s just a bully and you were a real hero yesterday.”

  
She is just as kind as before. It is scary how that kindness fades over time and, though I miss her every now and again, I fear she was not so instrumental in our story as some have claimed. Still, I feel regret for what will become of her. I hope that the happiness Arthur bestows on her will be enough to make up for it, though I have always doubted the sincerity of the love they shared, however temporarily.

* * *

  
It does not take long for Gaius to tell me about the great dragon. It reminds me of myself; the self I was back then, at least. How desperate I was for a purpose and, now, how near sick I am of that purpose. I suppose, in the end, I got what I wanted and more. My task, however, was many more lifetimes long than I ever could have guessed.

  
After visiting Lady Helen, partially to actually deliver her potion and partially to ensure that I was right in my assumption that, yes, the grieving mother had taken over her physical form, I ventured out into urban Camelot once again. I was excited for the next occurrence; more so than I had been the day before, at least. After all, I had no other reason for being out in the market but to run into Arthur. I cannot even remember what my initial purpose had been that first time.

  
I felt the rush of desire rip through me as I passed him, getting as close to his form as I could afford.

  
“How’s your knee-walking coming along?” He calls after me; I continue walking for a moment, just to keep the illusion that I have not done this before for a moment longer.

  
“Oh, don’t run away!”

  
I stop.

  
“From you?”

  
“Thank god,” His tone slips back into insult. “I thought you were deaf as well as dumb.”

  
I smile at the familiarity of his words, though I can feel his eyes burning into my back.

  
“I’ve told you you’re an ass,” I remind him, turning to face him finally. “I just didn’t know you were a royal one.”

  
His friends smirk at that.

  
“Going to get daddy’s men to protect you now?” I joke with a smirk.

  
He laughs, looking up and down my figure as he steps forward. “I could take you apart with one blow.”

  
“I could take you apart with less than that.” He has no idea what mental images I have behind those words, nor how much I would _love_ to take him apart right now.

  
“You sure?” It almost sounds like a threat but, before I can change my mind, I take off my jacket and throw it to the ground, much to his amusement.

  
I manage to catch the mace he throws me this time.

  
“I’ll warn you; I’ve been trained to kill since birth.”

  
I raise an eyebrow. “Wow. And how long have you been training to be a prat?”

  
This time, he looks almost surprised by the insult. “You can’t address me like that.”

  
“Sorry, sorry, my bad.” I smirk. “How long have you been training to be a prat, my _lord?”_

  
And then, oh so romantically, he tried to take my head off with a mace. The battle ensues, just as I remembered, though perhaps it went a little more in my favour than before. I was, equally however, more than a little distracted by his tempting proximity at times, not to mention his face, his lips and, oh god, his body. Still, I was hindered by a little more than that.

  
Because this scene had never been far away from us. Even in those last days, he could remember it at the drop of a hat.

  
‘ _You cheated!_ ’

  
Yes, I did. I’m sorry. And now I’m back again, cheating again and I’m still sorry.

  
It is only now that I finally feel how caught between two worlds I am. The past and the present, or is it the future? I’m no longer sure, quite honestly. But I feel that I am being given a second chance; a choice to change. This time round, I know what I’m getting myself in for when I save his life.

  
And would I still be willing to do it? When he finally knocks me out, I’m not sure.

  
I get up after a few seconds, dazed and tired when I hear him tell the guards to let me go.

  
“He may be an idiot, but he’s a brave one.” And for the first time, Arthur looks at me; properly looks at me in a way that makes me think that no one, truly, had ever looked at me before. “There’s something about you, Merlin. I can’t quite put my finger on it.”

  
And as he walks away, I am forced to remember what it will take for him to finally ‘put his finger on it’.

* * *

  
I am not asleep when Kilgharrah calls me that night; I get up as soon as I hear him. I sneak past Gaius with ease and make my way down into the lowest levels of the castle.

  
And when I come before him, it feels like it has been no time at all. We are both the same as we once were, how we continue to be and how we always will be. We are the constants; we don’t change, we continue.

  
I smile. “Kilgharrah, old friend.”

  
“It is good to see you again, young warlock. I told you we would meet again, did I not?”

  
His words remind me of my unwanted present, and my smile fades.

  
“I expect you know why I have been brought here then?”

  
His great mouth forms something akin to a smile. “Why else, Emrys, except that it is your destiny?”

  
“But surely my destiny remains in the present; in waiting?”

  
“There is some truth in that, to be certain, young warlock, however it seems that fate has given you something more.”

  
“What do you mean?”

  
“A second chance; a choice.”

  
“What choice?”

  
“Destiny, it seems, has laid out two paths for you. One, you have already lived. The second, well, it is your choice whether or not you to follow it.”

  
“What are these paths? And why now? What has changed?”

  
“Nothing has changed, Emrys, not yet. For, still, without you, Arthur will never succeed. Without you, there can never be an Albion.”

  
“So I’ve been brought back to choose between saving Arthur and not saving Arthur?”

  
“It seems so, young warlock.”

  
“I still don’t understand.”

  
Kilgharrah looks awfully solemn in the silence. “I told you once that none of us can choose our destiny, Merlin. Your destiny led you down a path of loss and excessive life. But this was the destiny chosen for you; this time the choice is yours.”

  
I close my mouth, finally taking everything in.

  
“Both paths end in death, you know this already. But fate, it seems, wants to make sure that you are entirely willing in the choice you make, this time round.”

  
“And if I choose my original destiny?”

  
“Then you will be taken back to the present and your reality will continue.”

  
I swallowed loudly. “And if I do not?”

  
Kilgharrah frowned. “The consequences of that decision are yet to be determined. Good luck, Emrys.”

  
And, before he could answer any more questions, he was off; as glorious and as magnificent as every other time I had ever seen him. He was a force of nature, of that I am sure, and much more powerful than he would ever admit to me. Perhaps I will never see him again, though I can say with certainty that I will be disappointed if I do not.

  
So that was it; that was the choice. My reality or another one. Arthur or normality. Though, ultimately, the decision was that of death or death.

  
And, though the choice should have been simple, I hesitated for a moment. What I wouldn’t give to die, to finally have peace; nothingness. Maybe a wife and children; a place to call my own and not to have to wander from town to town constantly. What I wouldn’t give to not have seen the things I have: great civilisations brought to their knees; lovers killed for the act of love; the genocide of a raving lunatic.

  
I would be lying to say the offer was not tempting, though I suppose that is why it was offered in the first place.

  
I end up going to the feast anyway, watching from a distance as I mull it all over. As the noblemen and women take their seats, I can see it all. I can see children and women and a farm. I see life, long life, but not nearly as long as I have lived and then, quiet, peaceful death.

  
As the Lady Helen takes her place on the podium, I see the other end of the spectrum. I see underlying lust; jealousy and drunken fumblings in the dark. I see denial and a wedding and I see love. And although I see difficulties and battles and hardships, I also see kisses and embraces and the most intimate acts of man.

  
She starts to sing and their heads start to drop. I cover my ears as my mind continues to reel over the decision.

  
I see corruption and darkness; druids and high priestesses. I see betrayal and loss; so much loss. And, at the end, I see death. I can hear the final words of every single one of them; the very life draining from them. I see loneliness; years and years of loneliness.

  
And as the coldness in Lady Helen’s eyes intensifies; I know how it must be. Because, no matter what Kilgharrah might have said, I know that, truly, none of us can choose our destiny and none of us can escape it.

  
The chandelier falls. The hall starts to wake. The knife flies.

  
And I see home in his arms.

  
We fall to the floor. He is safe in my embrace. And in those few moments I can feel all of what is to come: every touch, every kiss, every loss, every death. But I would have it all that he might one day return to my side; that we might be as we once were.

  
He will always be my prince and I his servant. For my destiny always was to serve him, and I will continue to do so until the day I die; whenever that may be.  
I close my eyes. I am warm. I am safe. I am home.

  
I wake up on damp grass; the mound has reappeared; Avalon is back. I feel a smile grace my face for the first time in what feels like years.

He is coming, I can feel it. He is coming.


End file.
